


Steel and Leather

by gritsinmisery



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-12
Updated: 2008-10-12
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:18:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gritsinmisery/pseuds/gritsinmisery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It would seem Gene has a kink for guns and leather.  Set at the very end of S01E03.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steel and Leather

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the pub at the end of S1E03. This all started from a remark **candesgirl** made to the [_LoM_ quote meme entry](http://jean-geanie.livejournal.com/20465.html) on **jean_geanie**'s blog. I popped back in with one of Gene's lewd lines from _A2A_ S1E01, and before I knew it a plot bunny had been generated, discussed, and then a certain person went to bed and left me with the beast gnawing on my ankle. So I wrote her a Monday morning wake-up prezzie. And she wrote the follow-up: [_Wheels and Leather_](http://jean-geanie.livejournal.com/24350.html)!

Steel and Leather

Gene was pissed, enough to admit it, at least to himself. He forced his whiskey- and beer-soaked brain to rerun the events of the day, trying to recall all he’d had to drink. Maybe there was something he’d forgotten that he’d consumed; something that would explain why his normal happily relaxed state was closer to stumbling drunk on this particular night. One round out of his good bottle from the office, shared among the team after the shoot-out at the mill – nothing unusual about him having a drop or two before heading to the pub. One Party Seven shared the same way, opened at the pub, with chasers. Nothing different with that either, except that Nelson didn’t see any money from beer until after they’d wiped out the Watney’s. No, there was nothing unusual about either the amount nor the types of liquor he’d consumed, but still here he was, dreading last call simply because he wasn’t certain how successful he’d be at getting to his feet.

His slightly blurry gaze landed on Tyler, still standing at the bar. Sam had been chatting up the plonk all night, and pretty successfully, too – nothing a bird liked better than a lost, wounded boy to fuss over, and damned if Sam didn’t look every bit the part. He was slight as a bird himself, that one, with a smile that made him look damned near young enough to be illegal, on the rare occasions when he bothered to smile. Add the bruises that one of the RCS crew had dealt him around those exotic eyes, and Tyler was a shoo-in.

‘Exotic’? Where the hell had that come from? More evidence that Gene was pissed.

But now the plonk was kissing Tyler on the cheek and walking out alone. Either Sam was truly as dumb as a box of rocks, or he too was so pissed that he couldn’t see and act on his advantage.

Or maybe he just didn’t care; he was a strange one, Gene’s new D.I. He always had Gene a bit puzzled. Like earlier this evening, for instance, when they’d been checking out weapons, getting reading to go into the mill. Sam had been his usual Nancy-boy self, whinging about not having had any target practice lately, and as usual Ray and the rest of the team had taken the piss at the “class runt.” Gene had been so disgusted at such an un-copper-like attitude that he’d threatened to keep the gun.

Then Tyler had picked up the weapon and… _changed_. His actions were direct and sure, and his face grew hard. He sighted down the barrel with intent, and his voice was as tough and certain as the gun in his hands. No longer was he a lost, stubborn, tantrum-throwing incomprehensible trial of a D.I.; here was a _man_ and a real copper, a small Mancunian Harry Callahan in black leather, and he took Gene’s breath away. Gene was glad then of his long coat to hide his reaction. He wished for it again now as the memory had the same effect, and slid his chair a little further under the table.

Sam pushed himself away from the bar and stumbled over to Gene’s table, nearly falling into the empty chair next to Gene. “Damn, I always forget about drinking after an adrenaline rush,” he said, and winced a bit before looking over and grinning at Gene. “I’m wasted, Guv.”

“I can see that, y’ berk. But what’s an adrenal-whoziz, and what’s it got to do with owt?” Gene worked very hard to keep his face straight, given that his D.I.’s drunken smile was not helping to ease his little problem in his trousers.

The question earned Gene another of Tyler’s famous patient-schoolteacher looks. “Adrenaline rush. Fight-or-flight? We’ve had two today – at the mill, and in our little tussle with RCS. After it’s over, the body is more susceptible to the effects of alcohol and drugs. I’m surprised everybody’s still conscious tonight given the amount this lot usually drinks. You gonna tell me you don’t feel a difference?”

“More of yer gay-boy science, then, Sammy? As it happens, I might be feeling my liquor just a bit. That were a damn close call in the mill.” Hell, how had that slipped out? Well, if Sam were as drunk as he claimed, he wouldn’t remember it come morning. With luck, neither would Gene.

Solemnly, Sam looked into Gene’s face and laid his hand on top of the one Gene had resting on the table. “I know, Guv. And I promised, didn’t I?” he asked.

Gene finally broke the lock those whiskey-colored eyes had with his own and moved his hand out from under Sam's to reach for his empty mug. “Aye, y’ did. And so did I,” he agreed, tipping the mug up to give himself somewhere else to look, something else to do.

“There’ll be no lock-in tonight,” announced Nelson from behind the bar. “Have a good evening, gents.” With the sound of chair legs scraping across the floor and glasses landing on wood tabletops, C.I.D. called “good-night” to each other and stumbled out the door. Although it took Sam three tries to connect Gene’s hand with the sleeve, he somehow worked Gene into his camel hair coat. The two more or less propped each other up as they left the pub.

The conversation and the feel and smell of Sam’s leather jacket under his hand set off Gene’s memories again, and as they approached the Cortina, he spoke. “You really do know yer way around a gun, fer all yer whingin', doncha?” he mused.

Sam looked up at him and waited until Gene was looking back to answer. “I certainly do. I can handle just about anything.” It was the hard voice of the copper from the squad room that responded, the intense gaze of the man sighting down the barrel that looked up at him.

It stopped Gene dead in his tracks, and he had to swallow before he could breathe again. He finally blinked hard and started them walking toward the car. Without realizing he was speaking out loud, he muttered, “You, in leather, holdin’ that gun – gives me the ‘orn.”

Reaching for the driver’s side door, it was Sam’s turn to freeze. He slowly turned and stood gazing at Gene like Gene was a crime scene that he needed to evaluate. Gene realized that the last thought to go through his head had come also out of his mouth, and started thinking furiously of some way to back-pedal out of the situation. “Christ, Tyler, I can practically hear yer thinkin'. Don’ look at me like that. I‘m yankin' yer chain.”

Sam stepped closer to Gene, right into his personal space like Gene had done to him so many times, close enough that he was inside the open front of Gene’s coat and could feel the heat coming off the bigger man. Looking slowly down to where the evidence of Gene’s arousal was a hair’s-breadth from his own and back up into Gene’s face, he drawled, “Oh, I don’t think so, Guv.” He stepped away and opened the back door of the car. “I think you’ll be more comfortable in the back.”

Pulling himself up to his full height, Gene huffed, “Nobody drives but me.”

“You can do the driving, Guv,” Sam promised with a sly little smile, grabbing the lapels of Gene’s coat and tugging. “But the car’s not going anywhere.”

Continued in [_Wheels and Leather_](http://jean-geanie.livejournal.com/24350.html).


End file.
